
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

?at^¥i 

Chap._ Copyright No, 

Shelt-rS-a-S fc 

^4 I J ■: 

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



Songs of Cwo peoples. 



SONGS OF TWO 
PEOPLES 



/ 
By JAMES RILEY 

AUTHOR or " POEMS," 
STC. 




BOSTON 
ESTES & LAURIAT 

MDCCCXCVIII 

c 



2ncl COPY, 
1898. 




TWO COPIES BECEIVED. 






COPYT^TGHT, 1898, 
BY JAMES RILEY. 



To Mr. Charles E. Hurd, 

WITH ALL THE DEEP REGARD WHICH 

FRIENDSHIP CLAIMS, 

THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED 

BY THE AUTHOR. 



"^^ 



CONTENTS. 



I. Songs of New England. 

PAGE 

Marlton Cattle Show .... 9 

The Fixing of the Clock .... 15 

Fresh Hayin' 23 

Thanksgiving Day at Aunt Sally's . 29 

My Willow Whistle 34 

A Foggy Morning 37 

Brother Jonathan Lectures His Adopted 40 

When We Took the Papers ... 43 

Song of the May . ' . . . . 48 

Marion Harbor 49 

II. Ireland and Her People. 



My Road at Tang 
The House Beyant the Hill 
Con Grady .... 
Morning at Killarney 
My Shannon River 



53 
60 

63 
67 
70 



CONTENTS. 



The Traveler in the Sun 

Erin Awakened . 

The Waters of the Lee . 



PAGE 

72 

75 
78 



III. Miscellaneous. 



The Nativity 


81 


Palos — Hispaniola — 1492 


86 


The Teachers 


90 


A Dream of the Beautiful 


93 


The American Flag .... 


95 


The Thief 


96 


The Waters of the Soul . 


99 


The Harvest Day .... 


102 


An October Day 


105 


The Broad Lakes of Bradore . 


108 


The Falls of Dhoon .... 


hi 


Well Enough and Tidy New . 


"3 


Eyes, Turn from What You See 


115 


My Mother 


117 


The Peddler from Peru . 


120 


The River 


123 


Aspiration 


126 


A Daffodil 


129 


The First Step 


130 


The Poet's Grave .... 


131 



I. SONGS OF NEW ENGLAND. 



Ittarlton Cattle Slfoto, 



'THE fields were white and frosty and the sun was 

on them bright, 
As down the meadow road we drove in autumn's 

morning light ; 
Saw crops of corn and pumpkins, and orchards bend 

their load, 
And groaning, rare-ripe peach trees, making joyous 

all the road. 



Barnyard fowl all loudly calling, broke cheerily the 

day, 
And weather-cocks, like drifting gold, seemed 

answering screech of jay. 
Forests, with their colors vivid, opened out to field 

and stream. 
And burning, distant, golden spires, completed all 

the dream. 



SONGS OF TWO PEOPLES. 



All of this I saw in wonder on that morning long 

ago, 
When with my Uncle Ned I rode to Marl ton Cattle 

Show. 
Rode, and crossed the Herring River, sparkling, with 

its mills to cheer; 
Miles on miles of streaming sunshine breaking on 

my vision clear. 



Passed Tihonet cross-roads bravely leading up the 

hill for Stowe, 
To see beyond the world that day on wheels for 

cattle show. 
Trotting, racing, passing, wheels all dazzling in the 

sun; 
I knew not where joy ended, but was sure it had 

begun. 



And when my Uncle said to me, " See all you can 

to-day ! " 
And cracked the whip, and drew the rein, and pulled 

into the fray, 
I saw but one long white road all shining in the 

glow 
Of a sun that on was leading far to Marlton Cattle 

Show. 



MARLTON CATTLE SHOW. 



My Uncle would have said much more, but a team 

then tried to pass, 
And down the hill, and cross the bridge we raced 

with Hiram Glass. 
Drove through the Eber Village, reaching farther in 

the day ! 
With Hiram just behind us, while before they 

cleared the way. 



Then leading up, past Saunders' store, we headed 

right through Stowe ! 
With all the people shouting, " Hi, there, for cattle 

show ! " 
So we rode and beat brave Hiram, till our wheels 

locked with Sam Coke's ; 
Held our place ten feet beyond him, till we stopped 

to fix up spokes. 



Then Uncle said (off-handed), " Such accidents, you 
know, 

Are happening right along, my lad, driving to cattle 
show ! 

Can't always tell, in driving, just when you ought to 
stop ! 

The wheel is dished, I notice ; but we'll find a black- 
smith's shop." 



SONGS OF TWO PEOPLES, 



At Warren's Mills we changed the wheel ; the sign 

was " Alvin Stiles " ; 
And his son, joung Alvin, showed us a way that 

saved five miles. 
And so we came on Hiram with his horse balked at 

the gate, 
And as we passed cried Uncle, " Hi, I think you will 

be late ! " 



The Arabian Nights and Crusoe were as nothing to 
the light 

That now in bright confusion broke on my aston- 
ished sight. 

There were acres upon acres of living white and 
black, 

A thousand people up in air, and horses on the 
track ; 



While a fellow loud was shouting to the jockeys 

down below. 
Till flying gigs and ribbons strained, swept down 

the course aglow. 
It was then I got excited, stood right on the wagon 

seat, 
And shouted for the white horse, the second in the 

heat I 



MARLTON CATTLE SHOW. 



He reached it, too, that white horse ! and as he 

passed the stand, 
I thought it was my shouting that made him look 

so grand ! 
In the yards were hogs and horses, sheep and cattle, 

cooped-up flocks 
Of premium geese and turkeys, Shanghai fowl, and 

Plymouth Rocks. 



Farther on were tents and streamers ; one man writ- 
ing with his toes ; 

And princes from the farthest East in dime and 
nickel shows. 

Swings and hawkers, singing women ; one old man, 
in white cravat. 

Showed the world in panorama from Bull Run to 
Ararat. 



I don't think Pandemonium had ever half such 

sounds 
As cracked my ear with jargon loud, that day at 

Marlton Grounds. 
There were peddlers, dudes, and fakirs, where we 

sat down to eat 
A dinner that I relished, till the drums began to 

beat: 



SONGS OF TWO PEOPLES. 



Then, looking up, the Governor, and all the guests 

so grand, 
Including Hiram Glass, passed by to music of the 

band. 
" Can we go, Uncle, too?" I asked. He answered, 

"That's too high; 
A dollar for a dinner is too much for me to buj." 



A cloud came on the sun just then ; it passed, but 

left its thrall- 
To me a lasting memory of that march up to the 

hall ! 
And ever after, all that day, a secret, sorrowing 

thrill 
Came on me when I looked and saw the building on 

the hill. 



THE FIXING OF THE CLOCK. 



C^e filing of tl^e Clocft. 



A TRUE STORY. 



T NEVER shall forget the night we waited for the 
knock 

Of Uncle Reuben Allen White to come and fix our 
clock, — 

The clock that in the corner tall faced the great fire- 
logs snapping, 

Where glad the firelight glowed for all, e'en to the 
old cat napping. 



The windows rattled loud and fast, wild struck the 

snow the pane, 
And up the chimney roared the blast behind the 

potted crane. 
The great old elms shrieked long and loud, rose 

bushes in the storm 
As ghosts of June in shriven shroud wild beat the 

windows warm. 



15 



SONGS OF TWO PEOPLES. 



We had waited and expected, — mother in her high- 
backed chair, 

Artd father with his ear at poise, — I see him listen- 
ing there. 

"Hark, a knock!" he says, and speaks: "Take 
the candle, John, and start!" 

The shed door swings, a loose board squeaks, — I'm 
in the entry part. 



Dried apples, stringed, hang in my way, a mouse- 
box on the catch, 

I set the candle where 'twill stay, and lift the iron 
latch. 

'Twas Uncle ! coated, muffled thick! comforter, and 
hat down ! 

I brushed him off with corn broom quick ; he entered, 
and sat down ! 



Father stood up and tonged the coals, and I put 

three more sticks on ! 
And mother said, "I know you're cold; set back 

thar you, John Dickson. 
John Edward, get the little brush ! Set back you, 

too, Nance Dyer; 
Now, Reuben, don't you mind the slush ; stomp your 

boots right front the fire." 



i6 



THE FIXING OF THE CLOCK, 



We jumped around and did as told ! — snow lumped 
on Uncle's breeches, 

Tied at the bottom, warmth to hold, — mother, knit- 
ting, lost three stitches ! 

She picked them up, and moved around, the circle 
one chair wider ! 

At me for laughing slightly frowned, while Uncle 
sat beside her. 



Then asked for Hulda, Sam, and Lute, and Susan's 
hacking cough ; 

Said elm-bark, dock, and arrowroot, stewed up, 
would ease it off! 

So said my mother! she used herbs! had cures for 
every hurt ! 

A set of indigestion curbs, from sage to thorough- 
wort! 



Now Uncle, sitting back a pace, was getting things 
together ; 

A brush, a hammer, and a case which held a turkey 
feather. 

I see him now as on that night, though decades in- 
tervene, 

The central figure of a bright, glad, rustic farm- 
house scene. 



17 



SONGS OF TWO PEOPLES. 



A boj he may have been " Rube White," but won- 
drous grew to be ; 

He made all wooden clocks go right, and "Thank 
you " was his fee. 

'Tis true, that time, I did not know my uncle in 
those parts 

Which give a nation healthful glow, in purity of 
hearts. 



The young eye past the common thing with instinct 

sees the true, 
The hope that goes beyond the wing of bird upon 

the blue ! 
Age talks to youth of its bright days and holds up 

Memory's glass, 
And well the lesson it conveys, if truths said do not 



And so it is I turn to-night with loving key the 

lock, 
And bring back Uncle Reuben White come down 

to fix our clock. 
Tall, sixty summers gave to him their blessedness 

of parts, 
An eye Time's shadow could not dim, a heart for 

other hearts. 



i8 



THE FIXING OF THE CLOCK. 



A blacksmith of no mean renown, his cheery anvil 

rang! 
At night, the cares of day all flown, some ancient 

hymn he sang 
And yet, full forty acres broad, smiled from his 

hand that planted ; 
For rain or shine he thanked the Lord, and hoed his 

row undaunted. 



He held aloft one shining light to be his guide for- 
ever! 

To dare maintain his views of right, though dearest 
friend should sever! 

With healthful cheek, on Sunday trim, and hair of 
driven snow. 

All human kindness was in him, and words their 
overflow. 



From these cold, passing, present days, when lux- 
uries invite, 

I turn me to the simple ways of good old Uncle 
White. 

The ways and days deserving praise — the farmer's 
unstarched collar. 

Is more to me than all that sways, where Trade pa- 
rades her dollar. 



19 



SONGS OF TWO PEOPLES. 



And Uncle White, our clock for test, that night in 
simple round, 

Showed greatest act, for cause may rest within a 
nutshell's bound. 

I never saw such change take place ! I, holding can- 
dle there ! 

The poor clock's hands wrenched from its face, it 
answered with a stare ! 



And when he lifted from its trunk the blank, de- 
spairing head, 

My faith in Uncle Reuben shrunk; "You've gone 
too far," I said. 

Its wooden brains all knocked about, our clock that 
night he handled ! 

The king that was, turned inside out, unfeelingly 
he mangled ! 



He laid it on the table dead ! far from its high 
estate ! 

'* I'll touch it up with oil," he said, *' and then 't will 
go first rate ! " 

He took a walnut from his vest, solemn and ven- 
erable ! 

Said, *' Walnut oil, I think, is best," and laid it on 
the table. 



THE FIXING OF THE CLOCK. 



••Now, from that nut, I'll take" — he thought — ** oil 

for a dozen clocks ! " 
And on the table's face he brought his fist, and 

loudly knocks ! 
Job and myself are thunderstruck! "Now then," 

says Uncle, " hammer! " 
The nut is cracked ! he gives a look ! then says, 

without a stammer, 



••John, bring me here a tablespoon — an iron one 

preferred ! " 
And stewing out the oil was soon, while loud the 

old cat purred ! 
Now Uncle, feathering with care each secret, dried- 

up bearing, 
Says, •' Oil, my boy, is everywhere! there's no need 

of despairing!" 



" Some folks don't know it's in a nut ! Some know, 
but never crack it ! 

But those who do, know where is put what buys the 
boy the jacket ! " 

The storm had slackened on the pane, the fire was 
modest burning, 

As Uncle, muffled up again, stood ready for return- 
ing. 



SONGS OF TWO PEOPLES. 



*' Eleven," the old clock sounds its soul, — -its well- 
oiled insides proving. 

*'I guess," said Uncle, " on the whole, it's time that 
I was moving," 

And as I stood on threshold there, — trees silent in 
their shrouds, — 

''Good night," said Uncle; "I declare, the moon 
has cracked the clouds ! " 



FRESH HAYIN'. 



IT'S all well to jest write about the summer an' the 

^ haj, 

An' git yer mind a-thinkin' that the farmer's life is 

play; 
But you come right deown tew it, an' mow, an' rake, 

an' sweat 
Fer sixteen yaller August hours, you'd write of it, I 

bet! 



You'd run along into the lines the bright days an' 
the black ones. 

The hummocked an' unhummocked fields, the truth- 
ful tongues an' slack ones. 

Swa! swa! the grass a-fallin', an' steppin' at the 
stroke, 

Them's made fer it, a-talkin', but me, I never spoke. 



The day I worked fer Deacon Slade, in pay fer work 

he'd done 
Fer us a-plowin' in the spring, I tell ye warnt no fun. 
An' if a little incident put the whole thing right 

down deep 
Into my heart an' clinched it there, it's yourn from 

this to keep. 



23 



SONGS OF TWO PEOPLES. 



The deacon he was peaked, a potater small an' 

shaded, 
Who buttered both sides of his bread when hoss or 

cow he traded ! 
An' when he come to us that night, fer me to go 

fresh hajin', 
He thought 'bout fifty cents a day, on 'count, would 

be good payin'. 



Wall, so 'twas sot at fifty cents, though some folks 

kinder nigh. 
Thought that bill for greensoard ploughin' was a 

leetle mite too high. 
At break o' day we started, rakes, an' scythes, an' 

forks all in. 
To ride six miles to Hawkins Brook, this side o' 

Tispaquin. 



Hung scythes an' struck in ; youngest, the dew off, I 

went spreadin'. 
The deacon he still mowin' with Pat G^irk and 

Zenas Gledden. 
"Lookout, thar!" cried the deacon; "see that 

grass that I left stannin'.? 
It's a nest o' yaller tails ! Look out ! " I heeded his 

commandin'. 



24 



FRESH HAYIN'. 



At dinner bj the brook, 'twas thought we'd done 

about four acres ; 
An' Pat Quirk said, between his bread, it was too 

much, "bejakers." 
Said, **When ye bite more'n ye can chew — ." He 

reddened, couldn't swaller — 
Then lifted up the water jug, an' drank, an' loosed 

his collar. 



The deacon grinned an' showed his teeth, an' broke 

a twig an' bit it;" 
Said, "Pat, I guess if we don't start you jest about 

have hit it." 
He stood up, slowly, whistled, old " Yankee Doodle" 

tunin', 
An' shouted, " Boys, come, let's set in ; come, come, 

can't have much noonin'! " 



Of all men in our neighborhood who found that 

farmin' paid, — 
The driver of all drivers, — was Deacon Luther 

Slade. 
Pat an' Zenas they went polin', I raked ahead the 

deacon. 
"Take a wider rakin', youngster! " an' that was all 

the speakin'. 



25 



SONGS OF TWO PEOPLES. 



I put right in an' worked an' worked with all mj 

might an' mind ; 
Rake teeth striking two bare heels said the deacon 

was behind. 
An' although we worked like tigers, still the sun was 

workin' faster, 
Till at last it left the pine trees with the shadows 

growin' vaster. 



"Hurry! hurry!" cried the deacon; "there's a 

whole half acre jet." 
I took a spurt an' shot ahead, an' had my little 

fret. 
An' if I thought about our land that warnt half 

plowed last spring. 
It warnt to think the old skinflint would now get 

pay in sting. 



As I passed the grass a stannin' I careful laid the 
hay 

On that settled nest o' yaller wasps asleep at close o' 
day; 

A-sleepin' an' a-waitin' for that shinin' light o' 
men, 

The deacon of the Second Church, approachin' judg- 
ment then. 



26 



FRESH HA YIN, 



For the wrong he'd done our greensoard, an' that bill 

that was too high ; 
For trjin' to stretch daylight out till stars come in 

the sky; 
For our corn that then was pinlin, its roots not goin' 

down 
Where corn roots should in August go, to hold up 

Autumn's crown ; 



For the meanness of his bein' an' his greed, that all 

day long 
Would work a boy, an' Sunday pray fer them was 

doin' wrong, — 
Don't you think he ought to catch it, makin' two 

dews meet the day. 
With scythe, an' fork, an' coldest word, an' rake that 

slammed the hay? 



A-thrashin' right into it; the winrow closin' in ; 
Heart an' soul, if he'd um, reachin' in a sort o' frozen 

grin ! 
Crush-ush-ush, z-zm zum-m-m-m ! 
'Twas the rudest song o' natur, but it made the how- 

lin' come. 



27 



SONGS OF TWO PEOPLES. 



"Ow! ow! ow ! " cried the deacon, shriekin*. I 

looked behind to see 
A rake upraised, a singin' cloud, an' man that dashed 

at me. 
** Put the horse into the wagon ! " he shouted, while 

he shook 
His hat agin the varmints, as he run an' jumped 

the brook. 



'Twas jest two minutes later, with the deacon drivin' 

blind, 
I shrinkin' up beside him, Pat and Zenas high 

behind. 
In that leather-springed old wagon I heard Pat to 

Zenas say, 
" If it wasn't for the yellj wasps, we'd had a longer 

day." 



28 



THANKSGIVING DAY AT AUNT SALLY'S. 



Cf?anf$gtmng Day ai Ctunt Sally's. 



■\X7E started at the break of daj, 

To cross the hills and valleys ; 
And well we knew the country way, 
From Langley's Mills to Melvin Bay, 
While driving, on Thanksgiving Day, 
To dinner at Aunt Sally's ! 



We left three church spires on the right, 

Old Tandem Bridge passed over; 

To trot a mile with Deacon White, 

We left the turnpike for a "kite," 

And for a mile we held him tight. 

From Henly Plain to Dover. 



At Orrin's Mills we passed a troop 

Of gypsies round a wagon ; 
Their horses loosed, the motley group 



29 



SONGS OF TWO PEOPLES. 



Were roasting eggs upon a scoop, 
And drinking something — maybe soup — 
From out a pewter flagon. 



At White Oak Swamp a hound bajed deep ; 

We knew a hare was started : 
Then nearer swept the chase — a leap, 
A gun's report, and there a heap 
Of something on the road ! Life's cheap, 

And huntsmen are hard-hearted. 



Now to Aunt Sally's drawing near, 
Come voices. Jack's discerning 

I stand right up, hat off, to cheer; 

Abe pulls me down, and says, " Look here, 

You little harebrain ! Don't you fear 
The wheels, when they're a-turnin'.?" 



Sol swung the great gate open wide 

And cleared the way before us : 
Then, with my father at my side. 
Braced on the reins, we rode in pride 
Right to the front door, open wide, 
Hallooing in a chorus. 



30 



THANKSGIVING DAY AT AUNT SALLY'S. 



Aunt, sleeves rolled up and apron new, 
Came out from all her cooking, 

And said, " Melinda, how de do? 

Theophilus — and Abel, tew? 

And Benny," — she kissed me, — " you grew! 
Well, well, you're all well lookin' ! " 



And now behold us, one and all, 

Seated at dear aunt's table ; 
Father and mother. Uncle Paul, 
The hired man, Orlando Hall, 
My cousin Jack, and Nell, and Sol, 
And my big brother, Abel. 



The blessing said, we all " sot to," 
Knives, forks, and plates a-clatter! 

The turkey's rich aroma spread ; 

The cranberries were ripe and red ; 

And when Sol sighed and shook his head^ 
Quite empty was the platter ! 



Tipped upside down, the pudding pot 

On a deep dish had waited. 
Aunt raised it; — steaming, juicy, hot, 



31 



SONGS OF TWO PEOPLES. 



The pudding lay ! All else forgot, 
Each by his plums esteemed his lot — 
How rich his plate came freighted! 



And now the boys have nuts to crack, 

So rich and firm in kernel ! 
Jack shows us next year's almanac, 
And Nell, Sol's whittled bric-a-brac, 
Bound picture papers, two years back, 

And leaves pressed in the "Journal." 



Father and uncle talk of crops — 
What fields are best for sowing 

Potatoes, onions, corn, and hops; 

The value of French turnip-tops 

For late milch cows, when pasture stops; 
What grass pays best for mowing. 



At last the sun below the oaks 

In crimson fire is sinking; 
*• Good-bye ! " we cry to all the folks, 
And, wrapped in buffaloes and cloaks, 
Spin down the road with whirring spokes. 

Just as the stars are blinking. 



32 



THANKSGIVING DAY AT AUNT SALLY'S. 



Now Melvin Baj is far away, 

The late moon lights the valleys : 

But when, that night, we knelt to pray, 

It was that next Thanksgiving Day, 

With all the love that hearts can say, 

We'd spend at dear Aunt Sally's. 



33 



SONGS OF TWO PEOPLES. 



my VOmovo VOlfxstU. 



I CALL to mind the many things my boyhood gave 

to me — 
But best the willow whistle, with its sweet and rural 

key. 
It came with Moon of June-time, when the birds 

were in the trees, 
And the scent of grass and clover made fragrant 

all the breeze. 



Down where the cattle broke their way to brook 

with hummocked edge. 
And trout looked up and shot behind the further 

shade of sedge ; 
And the small, black turtle, shining, on his rock 

beside the brink, 
Looked down to greet in gleaming wave the frog 

that rose to blink. 



34 



MY WILLOW WHISTLE. 



Nature's mantle all effulgent, woven in June's loom 
of gold, 

Buttercups and daisies glowing, reached to wood- 
land far and old ; 

And the great, mild-ejed, horned creatures, looked 
lovingly to see 

A barefoot boj beside the brook prepare for melody. 



I cut it and I notched it, that sapling willow green, 

Slipped bark, and deftly shaped inside space for my 
breath between ; 

Then to my lips I lifted that rude whistle that I 
made, 

And piped a note that clear and long met all the up- 
land glade. 



I blew a blast I'll not forget to winds that stopped 
to heed 

The music of my soul upon that make-shift willow 
reed. 

While my heart rang in that whistle, made by un- 
tutored hand. 

Singing Bob and Major Redwing golden linked with 
me the land. 



35 



SONGS OF TWO PEOPLES. 



Found they strange new music added to their olden 
golden note; 

Swallows wheeling struck the brooklet, then away 
'neath skies to float ; 

All the low mead in contentment while the white 
cloud never stirred 

In the brink of blue beside me, just below the sing- 
ing bird. 



So I whistled that June morning in the sunlit long 
ago, 

With my soul of souls unfettered and a heart un- 
trained to woe ; 

All that wisdom for the scholar ever left in page of 
book, 

Left behind or passed unheeded when a boy I held 
the brook. 



36 



A FOGGY MORNING. 



Ct ^oggy ZtTorning. 



'T'HE mist hung heavy on the barn, it looked 

a-kinder lowrin', 
An' the fish above the ridgepole said the day would 

sure be show^'rin'. 
We'd hay down in the upper field, corn needed 

second hoein', 
An' the new ground in potaters into weeds an' grass 

was growin'. 



Uncle on the doorstone raised his hand up silent, 

thinkin', 
Fog, fuzzy on his coat sleeve, as it darkened, heart 

a-sinkin'. 
"Wind's to the east'ard, Jake," he said to our man, 

Jacob Gough. 
Jake he turned an' twisted ; said he thought it might 

burn off. 



37 



SONGS OF TWO PEOPLES. 



But uncle he thought different, still he didn't feel 

quite sartin', 
He said, about that auction grass he'd bought of 

Ezra Martin. 
Barefooted, twelve years old, a boy, I earnestly was 

prayin' 
A day had come, a day to rest two tired legs in 

hayin'. 



I listened to them talkin', all the time in silence 

wishin', 
An' at last I just suggested that 'twould be good day 

for fishin'. 
Two eyes above the doorstone, an' two above the 

path, 
Looked down on me in scorn, to see the subject of 

their wrath. 



"Fishin'!" snarled out uncle, shakin' raindrops 

from his collar, 
" If ye live to he's old 's Methuselah ye'U not be 

wuth a dollar ! 
Work all behind, an' fishin' ! Don't ye know there's 

hay a-spilin', 
An' that ye got to work, an' work, to keep the pot 

a-bilin'! " 



# 



A FOGGY MORNING. 



He turned from me to Jacob ; as he did there came 

a sprinkle. 
It pattered on my old straw hat an' gave my eyes a 

twinkle ; 
But they lost some of their brightness when uncle 

now said, " Well, 
If 'taint a day for hayin', I suppose there's corn to 

shell." 



39 



SONGS OF TWO PEOPLES. 



Brother ^onatljan Cectures ^is Ctbopteb, 

\ X/ITH his plaid-patched curderi breeches, an' his 

red an' jailer coat, 
He has jest come up and registered, and casted his 

fust vote; 
Talkin', tellin'beout the Bible, an' our institooshuns 

grand. 
An' that the stars an' stripes must float from each 

schoolhouse in the land ! 



Tearin' up an' deown on platforms, lettin' steam off 

agin' priests, 
An' bishops, popes an' cardinals — that eat heretics 

at feasts. 
Sajin' neow's the time or never to defend the flag 

we've saved ! — 
Our homes, our wives an' children, er by Rome 

we'll be enslaved ! 



40 



BROTHER JONATHAN LECTURES HIS ADOPTED. 



Wall, I stood it an' I listened till he got his rantin' 

through, 
An' last night I stood in meetin' an' I sez, " Why, 

who be yeou? 
Never heard on ye till yesterday ! — since that time I 

riz the axe 
On my ole man at Concord an' ye run to Halifax ! 



"Ye were mighty still when Sumter's guns went 

shakin' up the land, 
An' I had my Irish rigiments march in an' take a 

hand ! 
Great strappin' fellers, shot right deown ; with a 

shamrock on their breasts, 
The Stars an' Stripes above um, an' a cross inside 

their vests ! 



" The last guard o' McClellan an' Burnside's furthest 

dead ! — 
No, I guess not, stranger — jest yit, I ain't goin' to 

lose my head ! 
Like 'nufF, in goin' to heaven, our roads may be 

apart, 
But in pintin' to the gineral end we're all the same 

at heart. 



SONGS OF TWO PEOPLES. 



'* Some my folks were Catholics fur back's 76! 

An' thirty-six years later helped me out ev a nasty 

fix! 
An' as fer Irish — in Mexico — of all Zach's bloodiest 

fields, 
He found at Paler Alter his biggest boss was 

Shields! 



" But the way you've been talkin', St. Peter raves 

and swears 
When comes along an Irishman that kneels an' says 

his prayers. 
But now I come to think on't, an' look ye in the 

face, 
I'll be hanged if you ain't Irish — no credit to the 

race! 



" But if you come to the United States to jest kick 

up a stew, 
'Tween Abner Jones an' his man Mike, an' neighbor 

Donahue, 
'Tell ye here, right square an' now, ye'd better shack 

fer home ! 
I don't want imported patriots to help me keep out 

Rome ! " 



42 



WHEN WE TOOK THE PAPERS. 



XDE^en Xt)e Coof tl^e papers. 



/^F all things in a country store to make its trade 

^^^ succeed, 

You must have the daily papers for the customers to 

read. 
And they must mean both parties, these sheets of 

which I speak, 
For if they don't, you'll in the end find trade is 

rather weak. 



An' that is why we each subscribed, an' paid for year 

by year. 
Each his opposin' paper, the firm of Way & Speare. 
Joseph was Republican, but never come out flat, 
An' as for me, Suranus Speare, I was a Democrat; 



43 



SONGS OF TWO PEOPLES. 



But you'd a never known it, exceptin' for that paper, 
The Jeffersonian Democrat^ a stern, strong, nation 

shaper. 
Joseph took the Tribune; come down one day too 

late, 
" But never mind for that," they said, "Pa Greeley 

he can wait." 



Sometimes when I'd be busy, weighin' cheese, an' 

pork, an' tea, 
An' Tom Earl from his talkin' would reach an' look 

at me; 
I'd tie the knot, an' look around, an' 'fore I'd snap 

the string, 
I'd quote to Tom the Democrat, when whang ! the 

counter 'd ring. 



Joseph across, his paper down, lifting his gold- 
bowed glasses, 

Would say, "Sam, charge Zeke Shaw two quarts 
o' best molasses." 

All busy, lamps a-lighted, a-puttin' up an' chargin', 

I jumpin' here, an' Samuel there, each step the firm 
enlargin'. 



44 



WHEN WE TOOK THE PAPERS. 



There's a good deal got by talkin', but as much in 

keepin' still, 
An' havin' tongues a-waggin', cheer the team that 

climbs the hill. 
An' the smoothest, slickest double that ever run in 

gear, 
An' put up smiles in packages, was the firm of Way 

& Speare. 



You see we done no talkin' ; our business was to 

cater ; 
An' that is why we served three years each in the 

JLegislatur, 
An' alius thought it prudent to have them papers 

seen. 
Though of course there was exceptions, as when 

Cap'n Bial Green 

Would go off yellin', talkin' to old deaf Hiram War- 
ner, 

Their sleighs below a-stoppin' to argue at the 
corner ; 

In this way takin' from us trade that went to Eugene 
Crockett,— 

Why, in such a case as that, of course, the papers 
sunk the pocket. 



45 



SONGS OF TWO PEOPLES. 



But on the whole the papers paid ! The nights we'd 

in that store ! 
Mark Edmunds he a-bilin' out with Democratic lore ; 
An' Jim Sharpe, tall, Republican, a-readin' an' a- 

tellin' 
In war times 'bout the treachery o' General George 

McClellan ; 



When " Hup ! " would come up on a keg Mike 
Hines, an' all was still. 

His empty sleeve to give respect, he'd tell of Mal- 
vern Hill, 

Then bout the folks that stayed at home, an' when 
the draft come lied ; 

Why, if I'd been Jim Sharpe them times, I'd curled 
right up an' died. 



If you want earth's democracy, the equality of head, 
You must find your cracker barrel where the daily 

paper's read. 
There, with the soil right on the boot, an' face an' 

hands well tanned. 
You'll find great Nature's orator a-servin' all the 

land. 



46 



WHEN WE TOOK THE PAPERS. 



So 'twas with us, the years went 'long, the states- 
men sittin' high 

On barrels an' on boxes, givin' each the "'tis "an' 
" why"; 

Old faces growin' fewer, men had traveled down the 
nation, 

Inside of them two papers, that had been their ed- 
ucation. 



Trade gettin' dull an' duller, till at last we sold out- 
right ; 

(Keepin' each, of course, his paper) to young Fred 
Parmenus White. 

Only once I went to see him, the young, bright, 
smart storekeeper. 

Ha! cold! trade light! but, compared to us, he was 
sellin' cheaper. 



Last week it was we buried my old partner, Joseph 

Way; 
An' goin' by the sold-out store, silent this many a 

day, 
I thought of times when we'd our swing, an' 

brightly burned Life's taper, 
In that old store, where "we held trade," an' each 

one took his paper. 



47 



SONGS OF TWO PEOPLES. 



Song of tlfz Wiay. 

A N opening song upon the glade 

That can no more delay; 
A blossomed tree by breezes swayed, 
And this, this is the May. 



The heavens now pale their stars of light 

To morns of fairer brow ; 
While wayward winds o'er waters bright 

Quicken each blade and bough. 



Tangled at times, but reaching through 

To bluest arching skies. 
The brook, at last, in clearer view, 

Bends where the green branch sighs. 



O May ! fair May ! of months the queen ! 

Responsive to the soul 
Is now the far melodious green, 

Where Fancy sees her goal. 



48 



MARIOM HARBOR. 



2Ttarton ^arbor, 

"CAR up from the shores of the gull and | 

The sun's best charms beguiling, 
With its forest deep and its pleasure sail, 
Lies Marion Harbor smiling. 



It is circled round in as jojous bound 
As ever made steel-blue crescent; 

In the glow of the morning golden crowned 
It hails the Omnipresent. 



Here Summer clasps her fair white hands, 
And lifts her eyes all glowing, 

Beside those sunny, golden sands 
Her tresses gently blowing. 



From its cedared isle to its farthest reach, 
Where seaward view discloses 

Lighthouse and headland, sanded beach — 
Here calm content reposes. 



49 



J 



SONGS OF TWO PEOPLES. 



With its ancient town and its regal crest, 
And its woodland slope far-reaching, 

This earlier wave of the Pilgrim's West 
All Nature's love is teaching. 

Green are its shores and blue its skies, 

And far its forests resting, 
That fain would shield their ocean prize 

From every storm's contesting. 



Seek not for the gems of an Afric sea 
When all this wave lies gleaming, 

And Morning in her majesty, 

With banners proudly streaming, 

Rides all this tide ! Her golden car 
May pass to pomp unending; 

But never paled her forehead star 
Before such glory blending. 



50 



II. IRELAND AND HER PEOPLE. 



Vily Hoab at Cang. 



T SAW not where it went to, and less I cared, I 
know, 

The roadway of my childhood, in the sunlit long 
ago, 

But that it passed our doorway, when birds in sum- 
mer sang, 

And went straight on to heaven, was enough, my 
road at Tang ! 

Was enough when life was early, and the heavens' 
glory showed, 

To be born and live six summers by Tang's long, 
winding road. 



It was so wide and even, and it went so far away, 
Up the farthest, highest, longest hill, right into 

Ireland's day, 
That I knew all heaven's sunlight on its glad way 

was impearled ! 
And that there was no other roadway but Tang's in 

all the world ! 



53 



SONGS OF TWO PEOPLES. 



With its ash tree, and its hawthorn, and its lark that 

heavenly sang, 
Sure no roadway went to heaven but my Irish one 

at Tang! 



That it passed all round old Ireland on its way to 

heaven, I knew, 
By the people back and forward who came within 

my view ! 
By the strange, good, friendly people, in their carts, 

who passed our door! 
Their faces filled with innocence that I shall see no 

more. 
There was not a cloud above it where Pain her glass 

might hang! 
It was always open sunshine before our door at 

Tang ! 



Whitewashed, straw-thatched, floor earthen, un- 
conscious of all pride 

Was our fagot-raftered cot that stood beside the 
roadway wide ; 

That oped where great boys lingered, — how could 
they be so tall ? 

And yet so kind as notice me, the smallest boy of 
all! 



MY ROAD AT TANG. 



Across the road the greenest field, church, yard, 

and bird that sang 
Music for my early footsteps down the country road 

at Tang. 



Holy Wells they said had Ireland, and battlement 

of Dane; 
The Inny and the Shannon that flowed half way to 

Spain ! 
Ruined ancient castles olden built by giants in far 

times, 
They who built and left a causeway where the ivy 

ever climbs ! 
And who sailed all round old Ireland in great 

flagged, enchanted ships. 
The morning on their canvas when the sun from 

ocean drips ! 
Ireland's great round sun ! that never left her son's 

impassioned lips ! 



They were giants, men enchanted, who held Ireland 

in those days. 
Tossing mountains while they walked the shore, 

their great feet making bays ! 



55 



SONGS OF TWO PEOPLES. 



Sure all these were not mere fancies, or loud bells 

that harshly clang! 
But the music of an earlj heart, whose first beat 

was in Tang. 



With deep imagined fairy lore, tales that with life 
shall stay, 

Was the sunlight of life's morning then along my 
road's bright way. 

Passing up, the stately hedgerows, golden-blos- 
somed, furze on green. 

After that the little wicket, there, the hedge-side 
school was seen ; 

That one schoolhouse ! my one shadow! for at 
times the ruler rang, 

Very near me, on some urchin who went to school 
at Tang! 



And although it always spared me. Education gave 

its scowl ! 
Which was enough ! and Wisdom flew, — the little 

fledgling owl ! 
Thus it was a shade was harbored beneath that 

rough stone-bound, 
To vanish with the rowan tree, and green, wide 

playing-ground. 



56 



MY ROAD AT TANG. 



Still I think 'twould have been better, with its beat- 
ings and harangue, 

If that little hedge-side schoolhouse had been farther 
off from Tang. 



Not that I disliked my letters less than birds that 
o'er me trolled, 

For the youngest eye is farthest in its reach for let- 
tered gold ! 

And e'en now, I well remember, headed by its 
Roman A, 

The marching host to Z go down my primer's page 
that day ; 

And the plain, dear sign gold-lettered that I read, — 
ah ! does it hang 

As of old above our doorway, our cottage door at 
Tang ? 



Does the tinker in red waistcoat, the corduroyed 

beggar dumb, 
And the woman with her child at back, from Bally- 

mahon come? 
Are they still at work within the bogs.? I just 

remember where. 
Men and girls and boys, bare-ankled, with cherry 

cheeks so rare. 



57 



SONGS OF TWO PEOPLES. 



Is the man of baize, the fiddler, who cheerily 

danced and sang 
Before our cottage doorway, — are they all still in old 

Tang? 



Ah ! I see the soldiers marching, passing onward to 
Athlone ! 

A shining line of scarlet timed to some poor soul's 
"ochone; 

Ochone ! Machree, ah me, ah me! these lines, when 
will they pass ? — 

These marching lines of England's red with buckled 
helm and brass." 

So wailed that day a stricken soul, until the black- 
bird sang, 

Its heart to cheer all other hearts, when marched 
those lines from Tang. 



Down the hill one day, slow, winding, came a train 

with wailing sound. 
And although it hurt the sunlight, still the good 

skies never frowned. 
Only wept, a sunlit raindrop falling gently to the 

ground. 
That was all ! the slow procession coming told my 

heart the rest ! 



58 



MY ROAD AT TANG. 



Told me of some great heart-sorrow, common to the 

human breast! 
All the people caoining, moaning, with a slow and 

solemn tread. 
Manly shoulders, highly bearing one of Ireland's 

sainted dead ! 
As they passed before our cottage, bowed we, with 

uncovered head. 
They were going two miles farther, so my father 

softly said. 



They were going on to Nohill, down the hill and 

far away, 
With a sorrow that passed with them, upon that 

far-off day ! 
Yes, going on to Nohill! passing church where no 

bell rang ! 
Only bright rain on the furze-bloom, and a linnet 

far that sang 
Hope and joy to glorious heaven, stooping with its 

skies so low, 
Saying, Faith to ancient Ireland sufficed for all its 

woe ! 
That beyond its centuried shadow, its bitterest, bit- 
ing pang, 
A grave was good in Ireland ! and skies were blue 

o'er Tang. 



59 



SONGS OF TWO PEOPLES. 



CJ?e ^ouse Beyant l^e ^tlL 



"\ X /UD its shmoke agin the sunlight, 

And its unlatched open dure, 
Patsj, John, an' Francis Michael, 

Shpinnin' tops upon the flure, 
Not a shingle an it painted, 

Shtrame an' orchard an' ould mill ! — 
Shure no place in this new counthry 

Like the house bevant the hill ! 



Days were long upon the railroad, 

Slingin' sledge an' shtrikin' bar, 
Fitz, meself, an' John McCarthy 

Havin' rails from car to car! 
But atwixt the blows an' sweatdhrops 

Aft me sowl, widout me will, 
Wud go up the path and footbridge 

To the house beyant the hill! 



60 



THE HOUSE BEYANT THE HILL. 



Dinner over, Tommy Martin, 

Tellin' lies to Christy Kane ; 
All the min in roars o' laffin' 

At the greenhorn out from Slane. 
Tin pails empty, pipes a-fillin'. 

An' the boss sayin', " Come an. Bill,' 
Shure I'd hear the wathers runnin' 

Past the house beyant the hill. 



Shteppin' heavy night an' mornin'. 

Back an' forth me reglar way, 
Spring an' summer, fall an' winther, 

Six to six a workin' day ; 
Shure I never felt it, — never, — 

Pain or ache, or cowld, or chill, 
So me Bridget an' the childher 

Had a house beyant the hill. 



" Ireland's far, but this land's nixt it," 

Said I to meself them days ; 
Walkin' twenty miles on Sunday, 

Hearin' Mass wud long John Hayes. 
On the way home, at Phil Haley's, 

Shtoppin' if the day was chill ! — 
Ah, there's no time like the ould time, 

Wud its house beyant the hill ! 



6i 



SONGS OF TWO PEOPLES. 



All the neighbors now are scattered ! 

Buried, most them, many a day! 
An' I know be Patsy's childher 

I'm an ould chap in the way ! 
Only me an' poor John Daly! 

Last week, Thursday, buried Phil ! 
At the wake we two were talkin' 

Av ould times beyant the hill ! 



Yestherday, wud Francis Michael, 

I went down to see his shtore, 
An' me heart bruk when I seen it — 

Where the ould house was before! 
An' I turned me eyes to Heaven, 

Reconciled to all His will; 
That had left me, altho' lonely, 

Shtandin' cowld beyant the hill. 



62 



CON GRADY. 



Con ^raby. 



I'D like to see, in these late days, the best man 
climbin' high, 

As when Con Grady on the stage sat up agin the 
sky ; 

His calf boots blacked, his whiskers thrimmed, be- 
side the swingin' sign, 

Reins in one hand, his horn upraised, the town 
clock shtrikin' nine — 



Toot-toot, toot-toot, ho-ho ! ho-ho I the horses 

shtampin' hard. 
There's not to-day a Grady left, an' not a hotel yard. 
No waitin' long wud Grady, wud his shtrong hands 

at the reins, 
For he must meet the Rowley mail, the crossroad 

stage at Haynes. 



63 



SONGS OF TWO PEOPLES. 



Judge Dunstin, comin' down the shtreet, to go to 

county coort, 
Must wave his shtick, an' shout, an' run, jist like the 

common soort. 
But no one said of Gradj that he didn't dhrive wud 

care, 
Was impolite to ladies, or dishonest in his fare. 



An' 'twas no fault of Grady's, an' of that I will 

engage, 
When ould Miss Greene fell from the shteps, an 

sued the county shtage. 
Con's little uncle, ould Mike Day, acrost, the pipe 

in hand, 
Wud smile, an' think of Bridget's son, the highest 

in the land. 



That no one ever lifted Con Grady to his place. 
Was credit to the county shtage, an' credit to Con's 

race. 
Toot-toot, toot-toot, aboord ! aboord ! Gelang ! 

Away ! Ah my ! 
Thim was the days that had their heart, the sun up 

in the sky ! 



64 



CON GRADY. 



When wheelin' out into the road, an' turnin' to the 
right, 

Shtorekeepers shtandin' in their dures, an' custom- 
ers in sight, — 

The whole round worrld its ejes to see, then back to 
this or that, 

Contented, it had seen pass by the best man un- 
dher hat. 



'Twas seven miles to Baylies town, an' sixteen more 
to Way, 

The sunshine av the distance in Grady's eyes that 
day. 

Dust flyin' in the summer sun, an' talk goin' an in- 
side. 

The horses slow up Bartly hill, an' on the top, the 
wide 



Far-reachin' counthry in the sun, its houses, fields, 

an' town, 
An' over all. Con Grady on the wide worrld lookin' 

down. 
I do not know where Grady is ; one day in '6i 
He dhruv his last up Bartly hill, an' to the war was 

gone. 



65 



SONGS OF TWO PEOPLES. 



It may be that he's shlapin' wud the South winds 

soft an' low, 
Above the grave, that houlds widin, him that I used 

to know. 
But whether there or livin', well I know his sperit 

sees 
The swingin' tavern sign forninst the spreadin' 

chestnut trees. 



The stage itself has done its part, the horses an' the 

sign; 
But sometimes I hear in me heart the town clock 

shtrikin' nine — 
Toot-toot, toot-toot, ho-ho ! ho-ho ! I'm in the hotel 

jard, 
An' Grady's once more on his sate, the horses 

shtampin' hard. 



66 



MORNING AT KILLARNEY. 



tTTorning at KtllarncY* 



'T'HE clouds from distant peaks unfold, 

The morning breaks in glory — 
And crag, and keep, and abbey old, 

Rich in their glowing story, 
Look up to greet the glories rolled 

On crumbling ruins hoary. 



From Dunloe Gap, where Echo wakes 
And calls the elves to rally. 

To Dinish Isle, along the lakes 
There's peace on hill and valley, 

And only rippling water breaks 
To show where light winds dally. 



Beneath his rock, with brow aglow, 
Blind John the hour is winging, 



67 



SONGS OF TWO PEOPLES. 



As swells his soul, while twangs the bow, 
Till all the Gap is ringing; — 

The hanging cliffs of old Dunloe, 
That listen to his singing. 



The boatman to the eagle calls 
Where waters bright are meeting. 

Far o'er Ross Castle's broken walls, 
Above the white clouds fleeting, 

The lark pours music that enthralls 
In wild and waj'ward greeting. 



At Brickeen Bridge the shadows stay 
To watch the waters flowing; 

Round Innisfallen's ruins gray 
The ivy old is growing, 

And guards where holy men did pray, 
And gleams while winds are blowing. 



Old Muckross, with each storied grave, — 
Great chieftains in its keeping, — 

With cloisters dim, and mould'i'ing nave, 
And centuried yew-tree weeping, — 

Rests calmly by the gleaming wave, 
And wakes not from its sleeping. 



68 



MORNING AT KILLARNEY. 



In far green fields the lonely fane 

Of Aghadoe is dreaming; 
But rising o'er the verdant plain, 

Its cross no more is gleaming, — 
Where sang of old the surpliced train, 

Only the sun is streaming. 



69 



SONGS OF TWO PEOPLES. 



HTy Sl^annon Hxper. 

UACES and places are soon forgot 

In the pride of life's endeavor, 
But the home of the child, be it palace or cot, 
Lives on in the mind forever. 



This is why to me in the broad, far West 
I have seen the bright streams quiver. 

To see in dreams a stream more blest, — 
My broad, blue Shannon River. 



As a boy on its banks I laughed and strayed, 

Till sorrow dared deliver 
My heart from the hearts of the friends I made 

On the banks of the Shannon River. 



Ah ! the winds blew west, — long, long ago ! 

Caused a white-winged bark to shiver 
With the woe of hearts its deck below, 

Far, far from Shannon River. 



70 



MY SHANiSiON RIVER. 



To-day I stand in a foreign land, — 
See not those waves that quiver, 

As when I grasped the friendly hand 
That was mine by the Shannon River. 



When the sun first rose o'er earth's living green, 
And the bounteous, great All Giver 

Throned Ireland earth's queenliest queen, 
On her breast gleamed the Shannon River. 



71 



SO^STGS OF TWO PEOPLES. 



CI?e Crapeler in l^c Sun, 

LJE came that day from far awaj, 

And at our cottage door 
Unfolded, as we bade him stay, 

From out his golden store, 
Tales of the world's great winding way 

We had not heard before. 



It was so good for him to come 

So far to tell us three, — 
My father, mother, sitting dumb, 

I, on my mother's knee, — 
All that a traveler's words could sum. 

We listening eagerly. 



The dust of roads was on his feet, 
And on his suit of brown : 

A stick to walk, and make complete 
The road from Dublin town ; 

And with it all a green bag, neat, 
And beard that hid no frown. 



72 



THE TRAVELER IN THE SUN. 



Our hearts were won when he had done 
With London's famous towers ; 

Its spires that rose to break the sun 
From cottage such as ours ; 

That rose to break, but could not take, 
The sun from Ireland's flowers. 

He held us where the sunlight spanned 

Beyond the hill's blue line; 
And as he talked of each far land 

I saw bright waters shine, — 
Rivers that crooned on ev'ry hand, 

Past fields more green than mine. 

Round the great world I went that day 

Far, far as waters run ; 
Past hills on hills, away, away, 

Down Dreamland's way unwon ! 
A bright, unending road that lay 

For traveler in the sun. 



The stones along the road so bright, 
As white as my soul then, 

I saw on roadway streaming light 
As rest for trav'ling men; 

And on beyond, a town, so white, 
It held enthralled my ken. 

73 



SONGS OF TWO PEOPLES. 



I wonder if he still walks down 
That road mj fancy knew, — 

Mj man of men, in suit of brown, 
His stout stick swinging true; 

If so, I'll make for him a crown 
With Fame's eljsian few. 



The sun had sunk down in the west; 

Its light had left our door! 
But as it did, our traveler, blest, 

Had gone with all his store 
Of memories to final rest — 

In my dreams evermore. 



Which way he went I never knew, — 

That man without a name. 
Who came when all the skies were blue, 

Unchilled bj passing fame ! 
But ah, that I could tell to you 

Which road it was he came ! 



74 



ERIN AWAKENED. 



(grin Ctu>a^eneb. 

r^ INNISFAIL ! thy sorrowing wail 

Comes sounding up the years; 
But thou art brave, beside thy wave, 
Though bathed in bitter tears. 



Red England's rose in noontide blows, 

The thistle has its song; 
But far and wide as keel may ride 

The shamrock knows but wrong. 



Sahara's waste has winds that haste 

To linger at Ceylon ; 
And dark the hour that opes no flower 

To bid the heart hope on. 



On car of gold thy sister rolled 
On to her goal of fame ; 

But gave to thee a sobbing sea, 
And centuries of shame. 



75 



SONGS OF TWO PEOPLES. 



Ill-omened hour, when darkened power 
Smeared blood upon thj grass ! 

And evermore, on hill and shore, 
A ghost is seen to pass. 



The night was long, the winds were strong, 

And wild the rifted moon 
Threw down her light, where, cold and white, 

The Fates watched o'er thy swoon. 



' She is not dead," the weird ones said, 
"Who gave the lands their glow." 
Oh, woe to thee, beside thy sea. 
To wake in rain and snow ! 



To wake at night, the moon's broad light 
On England's channel strand ; 

Thou on thy heath, the sea beneath. 
With chafed and gyy^d hand. 



Stricken and sore, all round thy shore 
Guns, hating, turned on thee; 

Law reared to wrong the helpless throng, 
And perjure thine and thee. 



76 



ERIN AWAKENED. 



Weep, weep ! but keep what in thy sleep 
Thou heldest to thy heart, — 

The book of gold! that, lettered, told 
Thine ancient, higher part ! 



Lands that have light caused by the might 

Of thy strong right arm brave, 
Touched by thy tears, give word that cheers, 

To Erin of the wave! 



The sea-gull sweeps, his vigil keeps; 

The wave breaks on the reef; 
But far as sky the clouds that fly 

Tell to all lands thy grief. 



A sorrowing wail upon the gale. 
The burden of past years. 

Since Innisfail thy voice didst hail 
The flag thy heart reveres. 



Though rounded earth has highest worth 
In thy brain, brawn, and hand, 

Still dost thou wait beyond the gate 
Of Freedom's promised land. 



77 



SONGS OF TWO PEOPLES. 



CI?e tDaters of IB^e Cee. 

/^'ER my soul the mystic dreaming 
^^^ Of that day returns to me, 
And I see the bright sun gleaming 
In the waters of the Lee. 



Cross, and spire, and turret glowing, 
Distant castle, fell, and tree, 

Idle sails their gleams bestowing 
In the waters of the Lee. 



Warm and bright the sun, low setting, 
Left its good-bye all to me ; 

Purpling clouds alone regretting 
In the waters of the Lee. 



78 



III. MISCELLANEOUS. 



C{?e HattPtty, 

"TNAVID'S city, overflowing, now is filled with 

traffic's din ; 
Merchants, all their rich goods showing, hold 

reception at the inn. 
Not a voice in Bethlehem, calling, answers other 

word than "trade!" 
" Profit," God's own self forestalling, holds the idol 

it has made. 



Jostling on their way each other, Israel and Egypt 

one. 
E'en the Roman is a brother to the Jew he looks 

upon ! 
Caesar stamped on paltry metal this night is the 

god of all 
The vast motley throngs that settle every thought 

on Mammon's thrall! 



8i 



SONGS OF TWO PEOPLES. 



What to sheik, or Roman soldier, Syrian trader 

Camel-borne, 
Is, mayhap, some strange beholder, meekly walking 

since the morn ! 
Tell not him the world's grown colder, by the rich 

stuifs it has worn ; 
Or that Life means more than getting that which 

death's cold hand shall scorn. 



Bethlehem keeps wide-open hostel, and when that 

is full, what more 
For the late one, than to wander homeless past its 

crowded door.? 
Living into Self and Present, Judah sees not past 

its night! 
Thinks not, in its passing moment, of the writ of 

Israelite — 



Which has said, in Jacob's city, ancient called 

"The House of Bread," 
Shall be born, without its pity, Mary's child in 

lowly bed ! 
Far away, Augustus ruling, calls the world to be 

enrolled, 
So the future Virgin Mother comes as Holy Writ 

foretold ; 



82 



THE NATIVITY. 



Comes with Joseph to his own town ; on this 

night he seeks his own. 
Over wintry mountains dreary she and Joseph 

come alone ! 
They, two travelers, worn and weary, slowly make 

the great inn's gate. 
See within the firelight cheery, as they at the 

postern wait. 



Flicker in the night the torches, conquering and 

conquered there ; 
Narrow street and crowded porches, life exultant 

everywhere. 
Every house has its own treasure, every heart its 

golden vane, 
Farthest line of Bethlehem's measure, sunlight on 

to-morrow's plain. 



This while sorrow of all sorrows holds the wander- 
ers that now wait : 

They who see no glad to-morrows, waiting at the 
outer gate ; 

Waiting there for guard returning, Judah's skies are 
very low, 

And the farthest star is burning-light, for Mary's 
brow aglow. 



83 



SONGS OF TWO PEOPLES. 

Now the answer — it is spoken ! and they turn them, 

needless wait ! 
Pity's heart is not awakened; Mary hears it, "You 

are late ! " 
Aye, are late ! though clouds are flying low along 

the winter's sky, 
And o'er Gibeon's mount far-lying, angels weep, 

the Presence nigh, — 
Weep for mankind, troubled only with the wind 

that passeth by. 

Shepherds far their night-watch holding over sleep- 
ing sheep and kine. 

Now behold, afar unfolding, light on plains of 
Palestine ! 

Tabor's mountain, Shiloh's water, Holy Gate and 
Rachel's Tomb, 

Hillside far as Mount of Olives, transient lift them 
from the gloom. 

"Israel is no more benighted !" calls a voice, and, 

robed in grace. 
All the glorious heavens parting, giving glory to 

his face. 
Stands an angel, high above them, star on forehead 

and he cries, 
"Ring the words on earth forever! Christ for man 

is born ! Arise ! " 



84 



THE NATIVITY. 



Farther parted all the heavens, and the angel host 

praised then, 
*' Glory unto God the highest! " and all closed from 

human ken. 
But the star was left to guide them, and thej took 

their mountain way. 
Wise Men of the East beside them, at that natal 

couch to pray. 



Star of Bethlehem still is shining, and afar the 

angel cries. 
Calling unto all low weeping, as of old, "Arise! 

arise ! 
Arise ! " the words are thundered earthward ! 

"Worship now the Living God! 
Follow where His footsteps wandered, and of old 

His prophets trod ! " 



SONGS OF TWO PEOPLES. 



1492. 



TVIIGHT broods on the unfathomed deep, 

And knows no moon, nor star! 
And all her legioned armies sweep 
With pennons streaming far. 



Only a waste of waters green, 
That since creation's day 

No human eye has ever seen — 
Old Ocean holds its sway. 



The world that erst began to dream 
On Asia's morning land, 

Holds still the summit of its theme 
On that far eastern strand. 



And men go down their little way, 
Weighted with passing care! 

And if a monk and sailor pray, 
God only hears their prayer. 



86 



PALOS — H ISPANIOL A. 



A regal, changing East is all 
The centuries can show, 

With Britain at the outer wall 
The limit of its glow. 



Rome moves along her warring west 
With crozier, staff, and brand, 

And ocean with its stormy crest 
Awaits the Risen Hand. 



The sword that closed on Paynim steep 

With Moslem scimitar, 
Now over the mysterious deep 

Points to a world afar. 



To beat her drums on India's strand, 

And hold the hills of gold. 
And plant the cross with rev'renthand, 

As was by Him foretold, 



Spain sails, with all the future fraught, 

Upon the crested wave; 
Nor peril recks when what is sought 

Is empire or a grave. 



87 



SONGS OF TWO PEOPLES. 



Now tighten all your rudder bands, 

And let jour pennants fly ! 
Before your prows are unknown lands, 

Behind is common sky. 



Sail on, sail on, ye gallant crafts, 
Though clouds break on your lee; 

It is a fairer wind that wafts 
Your keels across the sea. 



The startled sea bird hears and cleaves 

The sunset in his track. 
But brighter than the wave he leaves 

The hope that fears no wrack. 



The night hangs low, the storm is on, 
Wild flaps the tattered sail. 

The plunging ship drives madly on 
Before the rising gale. 



And stern-browed men their chief around 

On the Maria's deck 
Hoarse shout, "Turn back, turn back! the bound 

Of hope may save from wreck." 



88 



PALOS — HISPANIOLA. 



But even as they speak, and waves 

Go thundering alee, 
Rings, "Onward! onward! him who braves 

Life for futurity?" 



The rifted clouds are breaking fast, 
And heaven hangs her star 

Over each bared and straining mast, 
While rolls the thunder far. 



Faith writes along the brow of night, 

While stars their music ring. 
* O sail," she saj^s; " the morning light 
The promised land will bring. 



* O sail on wave all undefined 

That would your course delay, 
Until upon the sea the wind 
Brings fair isles of Cathay ! " 



SONGS OF TWO PEOPLES. 



CE?c Ceacl^ers. 

/^ OD made the hills for thought sublime, 
^^ The vales for love and laughter ; 
Twin teachers they, of flowing rhyme, 
To man for ever after. 



And though one leads where glories ring. 

And one be love's defender, 
It is to teach the eagle's wing 

Is near to longings tender. 



Divinely linking dreams of soul. 
They act on man's endeavor; 

Inspiring answering songs that roll 
For ever and for ever ! 



As far as sunshine of the heart. 
In language deep, all glowing, 

They teach the old and higher part- 
Perspective's dream bestowing. 



90 



THE TEACHERS. 



They lead to Genius' silent sway, 
That artist soul may capture 

The golden measure of the day, 
For unborn age's rapture. 



Inspiring nations to be brave, 
They uphold all flags flying ; 

And strike the shackles from the slave 
In w^ords that are undying. 



The highest goal is for the soul 
Of him who scales the mountains; 

Who follows down the streams that roll 
From far perennial fountains. 



All Beauty's dream is but a gleam 
Of hills and valleys drinking 

The sunlight of each wayward stream 
That wells from fonts unthinking. 



He drinks Life's waters and is cheered 
Who knows the vales will bless him ; 

The rime of time upon his beard. 
Suns linger to caress him. 



91 



SONGS OF TWO PEOPLES. 



Then hail the Light that lifts the night I 
The hills and vales adorning; 

Showing afar the Maker's might, 
As on that first bright morning. 



92 



A DREAM OF THE BEAUTIFUL. 



a Dream of tl^e Beautiful. 

T DREAMED of all things beautiful, of olden 

lands and new ; 
Of spire and mosque and tall kiosk, and wonders of 

Peru; 
Of ships that sailed when morning hailed the 

water's kindling blue. 



I dreamed of all things beautiful, and kindly were 
the flowers 

That oped and bled and perfume shed on rosy-ker- 
chiefed hours, 

That heard the old glad songs of gold, while pass- 
ing Love's fair bowers. 



I dreamed of all things beautiful ! Day's gates flew 

open wide. 
And streaming strands of olden lands, I saw them 

in their pride ! 
I marked a caliph in the sun by Cashmere's golden 

tide, 
And heard the tinkling of the lutes when day to 

evening died. 



93 



SONGS OF TWO PEOPLES. 



As far as waters gleam I ran, far down the ancient 

past! 
The glittering towers of Ispahan on me no shadow 

cast; 
I passed Hope's airiest caravan with music on the 

blast ! 



On glowing car, as far as star, or roadway of the 

sun, 
I left behind to wave and wind earth's shadows 

passing dun ; 
Until at last a glorious, vast perspective height I 

won ! 



I dreamed of all things beautiful that live for me 

and you ! 
Of tower and mosque and tall kiosk, and temples 

of Peru ! 
Of ships that sailed when morning hailed brave 

flags that glorious flew. 



94 



THE AMERICAN FLAG. 



C^e dmertcan ^Iag> 

'T'HAT ocean-guarded flag of light, forever may it 
1 fly! 
It flashed o'er Monmouth's bloody fight, and lit 

McHenry's sky ; 
It bears upon its folds of flame to earth's remotest 

wave 
The names of men whose deeds of fame shall e'er 

inspire the brave. 

Timbers have crashed and guns have pealed beneath 

its radiant glow. 
But never did that ensign yield its honor to the foe ! 
Its fame shall march with martial tread down ages 

yet to be. 
To guard those stars that never paled in fight on 

land or sea. 



Its stripes of red eternal dyed with heart-streams of 

all lands; 
Its white, the snow-capped hills that hide in storm 

their upraised hands ; 
Its blue, the ocean waves that beat round Freedom's 

circle shore; 
Its stars, the print of angels' feet that shine for- 

evermore ! 



95 



SONGS OF TWO PEOPLES. 



*"T^HESE fields, these hills, these trees are mine, 

These acres, to the tide; 
As far as yon tall, yielding pine 
That tops its own with pride," 
The rich man said, 
While round him spread 
Autumnal glories wide. 

But, as he spoke, 

Down bj an oak 

He saw an artist stride ; 

One who in colors serves the whole 

Of all that is, when rounds the soul ; 

And with his canvas on his back 

Stood watching where he would unpack. 

It seemed the very colors all 
Of nature, with its vine-clad wall. 
The burning ivy's richest gold, 
The crimson of the maple's fold, 
Were in that pack that he set down, — 
This dreamer from the crowded town. 



96 



THE THIEF. 

Two souls that moment, different planned, 
Looked out upon the glorious land ; 
With one, it was self's lower span, 
The other saw all God gave man. 
One traced the beautiful in gold 
Of sky and cloud; the other, cold, 
Shriveled to facts and legal sense. 
The clutched rood of inheritance. 



' Paints ! " said the rich man, " of the trade 
That joins things of which dreams are made, 
A dabbler in the light and shade 
Of seasons ! Let him stay ; 
He cannot steal my fields away." 
And so the lord of many acres. 
Without much love for picture-makers, 
Allowed the artist by the brook 
To sketch from Nature's open book. 



That night the wind blew cold and chill. 
And morning found a wind-swept hill. 
Trees rose dismantled o'er the stream 
That heartless broke in distant gleam ; 
Cawed on their branch the raven brood, 
Disturbers of the solitude. 
Dark Desolation's first cold stride 
Was printed down the landscape wide. 



97 



SONGS OF TWO PEOPLES. 

Watched long the owner of the hall, 
Disorder's realm in field and wall ; 
Leaving to him in title deed 
Onlj a cold and broken mead. 

'Life's but a dream," he said, and sighed; 

•'These upturned trees, late in their pride, 
Now show on lacerated plain 
The emptiness of all man's gain." 



On that same hour the city's heart 

Woke to a new and better part. 

A picture had been wrought, the tide 

Of Autumn flung in all its pride 

Upon the canvas — Time defied 

A sovran of Expression's clan 

Had halted all the liveried van 

Of Sorrow — far and wide — 

Plumed for the final ride. 

And disenthralled, the soul of man 

Had told Wealth it had lied. 



THE WATERS OF THE SOUL. 



^Ift VOaUvs of tl^e SouL 

OOUND about ourselves we draw 

^ Mantle of the higher law, 
When at love's behest we pen 
Lines that live in souls of men ; 
Lighting up, that all may see 
Faith, and Hope, and Charity. 



Memory's haunted halls of youth. 
Radiant with the living truth, 
Towers all gleaming in the sun, 
Glittering there since time begun ; 
We may make more glorious still 
If on far Pierian Hill 
We make men who come and go, 
See effulgent waters flow. 
All for them the round of praise 
In these ultra -common days. 
All for them we hold the glass 
Up to nature while they pass. 
All for them relentless Art 
Doth demand the bleeding heart, — 
That the canons of her grace 
May not change by time or place. 



99 



SONGS OF TWO PEOPLES. 



Rapturous dreams of wondrous night 
Holding heavenly stars of light; 
Clambering heights to morns unrolled— 
Sovereigns of the ci'owns of gold — 
Valleys far as Toil's own girth, 
Gladdening all the generous earth, — 
These are ours, to give all men, 
When His voice directs the pen, 
When His voice through us shall swell 
Waters deep that inward dwell ; 
And melodious, glad streams play 
Onward down the fields of day! 



Word and deed and skies all glow 

When in golden numbers flow 

Thoughts that living in a dream 

Are beyond the things that seem, 

Telling of the world's advance 

To its own inheritance ! 

Only that the child may read 

Lesson deep with noble deed ! 

Only that our age become 

Something more than Man-child dumb ! 

Only that one of the throng 

Read, to make the rest more strong! 

Only this, and nothing more, 

Should keep sail on favored shore! 



THE WATERS OF THE SOUL. 



Cares the child when we shall sleep 
Under grasses broad and deep, 
Whether we be rich or poor, 
So the songs we sing endure? 
So the voices that give cheer 
Shall live on/from jear to jear! 
And his schoolboy's satchel hold 
Deed of hero brave and bold ! 
Every thumb-marked page with king, 
Rich in poem born to cling! 
Cities gleaming in the sun, 
Showing work by genius done. 



Better that the lamp we light, 

Than bewail the shades of night! 

Better that to earth we leave 

Changing skies that smile and grieve! 

Better far the great deep song 

Down the changing lines of wrong, 

Giving to all burdened men 

Widening thought from strengthening pen, 

Something of ourselves a part ! — 

Language born of our own heart ! 

Better delve, and toil, and hold 

To all heaven the mined gold. 

Be it but one glittering grain, 

Than transcendent live in vain ! 



SONGS OF TWO PEOPLES. 



C^e ^arpest £>ay, 

QUNLIT and peaceful ; fields all sere ; 
^ Fruition's dream most blest! 
The rapturous harvest day is here, 
And, tired, the world finds rest. 



An all-pervading music low 
Possesses hill and stream; 

It reaches where the maples glow 
Upturned in waves that gleam. 



Bright banners reddened in the fight 
With Winter's first white train, 

The wooded hills, that in their light 
Show victory over pain ; 



The glories of the firmament, 
The splendor of the field, 

The hand of the Omnipotent 
Before us has revealed. 



THE HARVEST DAY. 



A dreamy brilliancy of scene 

Is all we see below 
The skies, that, closing, intervene 

On ripened fields aglow. 



Calm is the sluggish, shallow stream 
That bears upon its breast 

The variegated leaf — the dream 
Of Summer gone to rest. 



Fair Promise swung her higher sun 
Till Junetide's hot noon hour 

Proclaimed, as far as waters run, 
That Nature was in flower. 



Then turning to a lower day. 
Her circling orb went round, 

Till mellow Autumn came to say 
Joy's increase had been found. 



The rustle of the garnered sheaf 
Is now Contentment's own 

Last crowning robe, as she, in brief, 
Mounts upward to her throne. 



103 



SONGS OF TWO PEOPLES. 



Faith planted long with prayer the seed 

Deep in the upturned sod : 
And now from storm and shadow freed, 

The field looks up to God. 



AN OCTOBER DAY 



Qn ©ctober £)ay. 

lyiOW comes a calmness on the fields, 

A music in the air, 
And Nature's rich profusion yields 
Her gladness everywhere. 



Far on the hills the mellow haze, 
High up, the vaulted blue; 

A world enchanted meets our gaze — 
Old, yet for ever new. 



The lazy, tumbling bee hath found 
The thistle's downy breast; 

Where maples bend, in silver sound 
The river sings of rest. 



The wheeling swallows now prepare 
O'er hills and fells and streams 

To bid good-bye to scenes as fair 
As Beauty's golden dreams. 



loS 



SONGS OF TWO PEOPLES. 



The summer came and went with song, 

To bring a brighter day 
Than ever down its hours long 

Held triumph over May. 



The fervid August brought its sheaf, 
September held its dream, 

But now has come the crimson leaf 
To tell October's theme. 



A calm contentment fills the soul 
That dreams where brooklets run, 

That sees the long year silent roll 
Its glad days into one. 



The splendor of the summer time, 

The rosy flush of June, 
Love's laughter and its sylvan rhyme 

Comes now in brooks attune. 



And clouds along the mountain's brow, 

Bright, pearly isles afar, 
Show Fancy, with her silver prow, 

Who leads from star to star. 



io6 



AN OCTOBER DAY. 



One perfect earth 'neath faultless skies, 
One brief, bright, glad hour given, 

October's day, to human eyes, 
Is but a glimpse of heaven. 



107 



SONGS OF TWO PEOPLES. 



tr^e Broab Ca^es of Brabore.* 

A TLANTIC roars and thunders its frown on either 

shore, 
But inland far, Cape Breton holds the broad lakes of 

Bradore. 
Her green arms fond embracing this wave she would 

defend, 
Since Morning blotted her first star, no wave knows 

fairer trend. 



Here Nature draws her jeweled hilt and wears her 
regal crown, 

From headland waters of the North to Old St. 
Peter's town, 

The far-off hillside sloping, the fisher on the lee, 

One round of light, with cottage white, a golden in- 
land sea. 



Planned for an island's splendor, for a glory all its 

own, 
Here Love and Heaven left to light a day elsewhere 

unknown. 



io8 



THE BROAD LAKES OF BRADORE. 



The "Arm of Gold," they called it, those French- 
men long ago. 

This grand connected wave of tides that ceaseless 
ebb and flow. 



The storj of a Louisburg, its glorj and its shame, 
Down all these waves to Port Toulouse lives in a 

line of flame; 
Down to the fort a Dennys built, Toulouse upon the 

height ! 
Where now the isthmus cloven, sea and lake are 

chained in light. 



But gladness of the lilies of old France is living still, 
It speaks where climbs the village of the fisher on 

the hill; 
It points unto the Micmac in his light canoe at morn. 
Who from this glad wave looks to see the cross that 

gleams to warn. 



Here too, old Scotia's sons behold a wave as bright 
as when 

Their fathers left the Hebrides, brave clans of High- 
land men. 



109 



SONGS OF TWO PEOPLES. 



O waters of Cape Breton ! land-locked and heaven- 
spanned ! 

The majesty of all that is, or seems, in you com- 
mand ! 



A thousand feet below your tide, the very sands 

must know 
That o'er them shines a brighter sun than gives the 

Ganges glow. 
The silence of the heavens and the rapture of the 

shore, 
All, all that breathes soul music, claim the broad 

lakes of Bradore! 



THE FALLS OF DHOON. 



Cl?e Jails of £>l}Oon, 

[The River Dhoon is one of those beautiful little streams 
upon the Isle of Man which the Manx, for the want of com- 
parison, call rivers. Passing over the bold headlands, it de- 
scends 500 feet, in three precipitous leaps, to the sea below. 
So tangled is its way, that only two of the cascades can be seen 
at a given point.] 

CINGING all the livelong day 

One glad, golden tune, 
Ever dov^rn the woodland way 
Leap the Falls of Dhoon. 



Laughing in their light array 
To the hills that climb : 

Breathing music all the day 
To their olden rhyme. 



Pausing vvrhere the green arched way 

Listens to their croon ; 
There to hide from light of day 

The secrets of the Dhoon. 



SONGS OF TWO PEOPLES. 



Jewels of the mountain faj, 
Sapphire, pearl, and gold, 

All that Nature can display 
She has here unrolled. 



Down the deep and shadowed way, 

Far from highest noon, 
Lithesome as the sylvan spray, 

Laughs and leaps the Dhoon. 



Joyous as a boy at play, 

Mona's mountain pride 
Leaps to reach old Neptune's sway 

Down the green hillside. 



Leafy-crowned and laughing May, 

And the minstrel June, 
Love the skies that long delay 

O'er the Falls of Dhoon. 



WELL ENOUGH AND TIDY NEW, 



XPell (gnougl? awb Ciby Hett), 

'yiDY NEW had ejes so blue 

That all the flowers kissed her, 
And said, Sit down, dear Tidy New; 
O come and be our sister. 



Well Enough was coarse and rough ; 

She was Tidj's cousin ; 
But Tidy New of Well Enough 

Was worth six hundred dozen. 



Well Enough went down the street 

On the mud side shady. 
Across the street her cousin neat 

Walked a little lady. 



Not a spot on Tidy's dress, 
Coat and hat so jaunty, 

Sunlight on each streaming tress, 
Going to see aunty. 



113 



SONGS OF TWO PEOPLES. 



All the birds up in the trees 
Flit three branches nearer 

Down to Tidj, just to please, 
Feet now coming nearer. 



Well Enough and Tidj New 
In the summer weather 

Walking, 'neath the skies so blue. 
To their aunt's together. 



Both will come back ere the night 
Along the road all shady. 

One, I know, a perfect fright. 
And one a perfect ladj. 



114 



EYES, TURN FROM WHAT YOU SEE. 



Cyes, Cum ^rom XDljat IJou See. 

"CYES, turn from what jou see, 
The brighter world to scan ; 
The world that here might be, 
If man were true to man. 



Prayers for a brother's wrong ; 

Tears for a brother's hate ; 
So shall the weak grow strong, 

The strong be truly great. 



Deeds are as stars that glow. 
Or cinders of the earth, 

Showing the high and low 
Degree of human worth. 



Dark clouds are overhead, 

They hide the bright sun's crest, 

But they will change to red 
Ere low he sinks to rest. 



"5 



SONGS OF TWO PEOPLES. 



Each has his goal to gain, 
His living part to do ; 

False to the trust, the pain 
Is not for me or you. 



The wealth or dearth of soul 
Is not of human will. 

God sees the rounded whole; 
He marks the good or ill. 



Turn, then, from what you see, 
O ejes that too close scan, 

And pray the time may be 
That man be true to man. 



ii6 



MY MOTHER. 



my motl^er, 

T STOOD to-daj in the valley of the years that 

long had fled, 
Where Memory's golden jewels are linked in a silver 

thread, 



And I asked my heart's deep beating if the blight of 

the Present's wrong 
Should crush out all the gladness it knew with the 

years of song; 



When it followed the winding river that led past 

the sloping hill. 
And the sun on the far horizon gave gold to the 

mountain's rill; 



When the trees in their bourgeoned beauty to the 
heavens seemed to pray, 

And all around the soul of song held sweet, trium- 
phant sway? 



117 



SONGS OF TWO PEOPLES. 



Should the morn it knew be blasted bj the noon- 

daj's burning rays? 
By a world that only listens to its own false meed of 

praise? 



Then my heart, in its treasured fulness, to my spirit 

thus did say : 
"Soul of my soul, thou'st garnered one joy that 

shall ever stay. 



" Deep down as the world's foundation, as pure 

as dream of the blest. 
Is the love the mother bestows upon the child she 

holds to her breast. 



" She, who guided thy feet unsteady, taught thy little 

hands to pray ; 
She, who pillowed the long, brown ringlets, at close 

of the golden day. 



" And who gave thee thy first sweet blessing to light 

up this valley of tears ; 
She, thy mother! who, now in heaven, first guarded 

thy infant years, 



ii8 



MY IMOTHER. 



" Her love is as the angel's whose wings are above 

thee spread, 
Thy guide and guard eternal, wherever thy feet may 

tread." 



119 



SONGS OF TWO PEOPLES. 



^I?e Pebbler from Peru. 

TJIS pack was wide, his step was slow, 

His thin locks as the winter's snow; 
And when he asked for stranger's fare, 
And at our hearth a place to share, 
The frugal board was further spread, 
And answer to the old man said 
That he was welcome to the few 
Coarse comforts that our cottage knew. 



Long sat we at the table when 

We found our guest knew much of men. 

For he had been as far as Spain ! 

And even sailed the Indian main ! 

Had seen the wondrous Southern Cross, 

And told us of the albatross. 

But most of all, the wonder grew, 

Our friend was born in far Peru I 



THE PEDDLER FROM PERU. 



Astonishment sat at the board, 
Such guest was worthy of a lord ! 
He told us of its mines of gold, 
A templed city far and old, 
Great rivers lost in desert sand, 
And mountains far o'er table land ! 
But most of all, could it be true? 
There was no rainfall in Peru ! 



Dissent sat at the table's head 
And to the stranger sternly said, 
'No rain, my friend? if that be so, 
How can their crops be made to grow?' 
He cut his meat and held his tale, 
Said, "Of good crops there is no fail; 
Instead of rain there is much dew. 
Which does for rainfall in Peru." 



That night he held us at the hearth, — 
The rain at times came from the north, — 
Then, merchant of the random trade. 
His pack unstrapped and goods displayed, 
And asked would we an old man's load 
Ease on to-morrow's weary road. 
We bought in pity, to find true 
That honest worth came from Peru ! 



SONGS OF TWO PEOPLES. 



With trade all done, a kind meant word, 

Asked for his home — his being stirred ! 

And slowly down his aged cheek 

A tear, said what words could not speak. 

The firelight's blaze grew passing dim ; 

A look went up, all meek, to Him ! 

The tear he brushed. 'Twas then we knew 

There was the heart rain in Peru ! 



The morning broke all bright and clear; 
He packed his pack and blessed our cheer; 
And down the road with limp and cough 
Was lost beyond the hill far oif. 
So went our guest, who last night told 
Of foreign lands, and men, and gold; 
But most of all, that skies were blue, 
And no rain fell in all Peru. 



THE RIVER. 



A WAY from the wasted places, 

Where love can never grow, — 
From the town, with its careworn faces, 

Where only bleak winds blow, — 
I sit by the river, winding 
Past fields I used to know. 



I see the horizon bounding 

The heavens that are near; 
And with birds in the treetops sounding 

Their music sweet and clear, 
Comes the song of the river winding 

Upon my listening ear. 



I dream ! and mj dreams are blended 
With a murmur low and sweet, 

The brook, with its journey ended. 
And the river incomplete — 

Each with its wayward winding 
To tempt impatient feet. 



123 



SONGS OF TWO PEOPLES. 

Far o'er me skies are gleaming, 
And stately bends each tree, 

And I, through the long day dreaming 
Of days that yet shall be, 

See the river onward winding 
With its music all for me. 



From the ideal in its fervor 

Reflected in the blue 
Bright waters that flowed near me 

On that distant day so true, 
I have passed that river winding. 

To the world's cold, broader view. 

Passed on to dark streams flowing 
That are made of numan tears, 

Where the trended vale is showing 
Only sky that never cheers ; 

Down many a painful winding 
To the troubled future years. 

Aye, I've lived ! And the years increasing 
Have brought at times despair I 

Sun after sun decreasing. 
And winter everywhere; 

Since those days when by the rivei 
I dreamed of all things fair. 



124 



THE RIVER. 



But now, with the late sun glowing, 

O'er jon horizon's line, 
Nearer, nearer, ever flowing. 

Comes that river fair of mine ; 
That river with its music 

Winding on with song divine. 



125 



SONGS OF TWO PEOPLES. 



dsptratton. 

T SAID if I were a painter, this night as the sun 
went down, 

Over the distant snow-line beyond the valleyed 
town, 

I would leave all my soul on Glory's wall in a paint- 
ing of renown. 



It should be of the work of the Master, that I saw 

gleaming there, 
His own hands holding the canvas, that His love 

His child might share, 
The dream of the soul exultant when answer comes 

to prayer. 



Great ships with their royal banners and sails all 

pressing free, 
Celestial golden islands on waves of crimson sea, 
And beyond, the port of the angels ! All these held 

up to me. 



126 



ASPIRATION. 



All these lands should be my picture, these islands 

old and blest ! 
Eifulgent as the light of dreams that lull the soul to 

rest, — 
I said this night unto my soul, if I the brush 

possessed. 

Day lifted afar its finger in one last gleam of gold ! 
And the angels rolled away the dream in silent, 

burning fold, 
Which said that Heaven's own painting I could no 

more behold ! 

So went the day — all measured — away on Time's 

great roll ! 
Lost to mankind — sunlight given — in its weight of 

present dole ; 
Broken only when the artist paints and leaves to 

men his soul. 



My heart's weight pressed me deeply, as twilight's 

sombre train 
Came down the western heavens and gathered in 

the plain, 
And I sank to the ground and sorrowed for a day 

that had been in vain. 



127 



SONGS OF TWO PEOPLES. 



With the dream of my dreams all vanished, I rose 

to a purpling sky, 
Hope's evening star was shining, and winds said, 

with low sigh, 
"The rv or d is the poet's pigment, let it answer your 

spirit's cry." 



128 



A DAFFODIL. 



a DaffobiL 

DETWEEN the green field and the gray, 
^ The bird upon the hill, 
I saw to-day in sheltered way, 
A laughing daffodil. 



' O laughing daifodil," I said, 
" A tender gi-ace is thine ! 
To bloom upon old winter, dead, 
And cheer this heart of mine. 



' You lift my soul to yon blue arch, 
Appealingly and fair ! 
That so, beyond the winds of March, 
I may all Heaven share." 



129 



SONGS OF TWO PEOPLES. 



C^e ^hsi Step, 

TJE who on the printed page 

Is more than churl and less than s 
Brings to it as rarest dower 
bummer's fragrant opening flower; 
Holds for nearer eye to view 
Heaven's broad celestial blue, 
Rounds within a breeze-turned leaf 
Lines that live in summer brief, 
Sees all glory far and free 
When the new day lights the sea. 
Watches Beauty break her glass 
In the roadside on the grass 
When a trembling drop of dew 
Pearly meets the sunlight new, — 
Though he may conceal his power 
In a budded half-blown flower, — 
Listening at the river's brink 
Ere he at the fount doth drink, — 
Yet he sees o'er heights afar 
Peerless heaven's brightest star, 
And has earned the poet's claim 
To the outer gates of fame. 



130 



THE POET S GRAVE. 



C^e Poet's ^rape, 

"IX/HEN comes the gently breathing spring, 
^ ^ And trees their branches rise, 
Methinks the birds more sweetly sing. 
With brighter iris on the wing, 
Where low the poet lies. 



To him the heir of all things blest 

Fair Nature weaves her gold; 
And tells the morn with gleaming crest 
To leave upon the singer's breast 
Her crown of jewels old. 



I care not where may be his grave, 

'Neath home or foreign sod ! 
The treetops that above it wave, — 
Because he lived to make men brave,- 
More surely turn to God ! 



131 



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